


All the Difference

by Walutahanga



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker is Not a Jedi, Anakin Skywalker/Happiness, Being a Jedi is Not For Everyone, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Gen, Gratuitous Legends References, Healthy Relationships, Jedi Service Corps, MedCorp, Other Force Traditions Matter Too, Sky Warden, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:12:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walutahanga/pseuds/Walutahanga
Summary: All the Anakins that Obi-Wan could have met, that were neither Jedi nor Sith and were the better for it.(Mostly because I like Happy!Anakin and Obi-Wan deserves better too)





	1. Sky Warden

**Author's Note:**

> Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,  
> I took the one less traveled by,  
> And that has made all the difference.  
> -Robert Frost

Obi-Wan wasn't expecting his ship to be attacked by pirates. He can't say he's truly surprised though. With the Clone Wars raging through the galaxy, it's just one more terrible thing on top of worse things.

"We don't have time for this, Captain," he says, ducking into the cockpit.

"I completely agree." The Zabrak captain is furious, punching the controls with a force suggesting she'd prefer something flesh and blood. "Blast it, they just cut through our hull." 

"Are we losing air?"

"No, but we might wish we had soon. They've attached an umbilical." She swivels the chair so he can see the worry etched across her face. "Master Kenobi, we're a cargo vessel. We don't have weapons. The only reason we're transporting you is that we're heading in the right direction and this is supposed to be a safe region." 

"Very few places are safe nowadays," Obi-Wan says. "Don't worry, I've faced Grievous. I can handle a few pirates." He pats her shoulder, sending warmth and reassurance through his touch. "Focus on your job. I will do mine."  

Away from the cockpit, he allows himself a small frown. Kwappi pirates are vicious. They were beaten back by the efforts of Trianii rangers, but small groups exist here and there, and they rarely leave anyone alive. Obi-Wan does not doubt his ability to handle a few or a dozen pirates, but an entire ship could pose a problem, even for a Jedi. He wishes, not for the first time, that he had taken Windu's advice and allowed the Council to assign him a partner following Qui-Gon's death.

He reaches the second deck just as he hears the thunk of the air lock engaging. His comm. bleeps insistently and he flips it open even as he turns on his lightsaber. The captain's voice blurts out: _"Kenobi, there's a second ship approaching. It doesn't carry a Republic insignia and- wait, they're hailing us -"_

"Find out what they want. Excuse me." Obi-Wan jerks his saber up to deflect a barrage of blaster bolts. That occupies his attention for several minutes. The pirates are good shots, as opposed to the Separatist droids he's accustomed to fighting, and one manages to singe him before he ducks for cover behind a bolthead door. His comm. is bleeping for his attention again.

"Not a good time, Captain."

 _"No, yes, I know, Master Kenobi."_ There's a high pitch to the captain's voice, a suppressed note of excitement. _"But the other ship- it's a- he's a-"_

Kenobi misses what she says next, as the pirates have made another attack, and he has to get his lightsaber up to deflect the bolts fired at his head. His comm. clatters to the ground and is lost. He backs up, deflecting bolt after bolt until he can duck round a corner. No chance to attack, just defend. He could change that, all he needs is a distraction. Something to take their attention off him for a second - 

 "Hey, you kriffing bastards!" A young, unfamiliar voice shouts from behind the pirates. "No firing blasters shipside! Don't you know anything?"

The blasters stop firing. There's the thump and grunts of hand-to-hand fighting, but no distinctive whine of blasters. When Obi-Wan looks round the corner, he sees six pirates being laid into by a single tall man who moves with preternatural speed, lashing out with fists and feet. Obi-Wan doesn't even have time to help. They're all unconscious within a few seconds. The man - boy really - slams his elbow into the last pirate's face, and turns to face Obi-Wan.

"You okay? Sorry I took so long, I had to convince your Captain to let me dock."

There's something wrong with this picture. It takes Obi-Wan a few seconds to realise what it is: the pirates' blasters, all floating around the ceiling, the Force flowing effortlessly through the boy.

"You're not a Jedi," Obi-Wan blurts out, and the boy laughs, all even, white teeth and glossy blonde hair. 

"Good thing too. I couldn't stand the uniform." He gestures vaguely and the blasters all chuck open, ejecting their cartridges. Then he lets the whole lot clunk to the floor, harmless bits of metal once again. 

It occurs to Obi-Wan in a sudden wariness that he could be looking at another of Dooku's apprentices. The boy is far too powerful to be untrained. No self-taught Force-sensitive should have this kind of power and control. And yet the idea just feels wrong. If anything the boy feels the opposite of the dark side, all light and raw contained power like a small sun. 

To be on the safe side, Obi-Wan remarks mildly: "Is Dooku recruiting again?" 

He gets an odd look. "Dunno. Isn't he your problem?" 

"My problem?" 

"You're a Jedi, right? I thought Dooku was your problem." 

"More or less." Obi-Wan hurries to catch up to the boy as he walks off down the corridors. "Where are you going?" 

"More pirates down this way. Does that laser sword do more than look good?" 

"It's a lightsaber, and stop for just a minute." He manages to get a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Where did you learn to use the Force like that?" 

The boy huffs, managing to give the impression that it's a highly stupid question. "Where did _you_ learn to use it?" 

"I had a very wise teacher -" 

"There you go. So did I." The boy keeps walking. "You coming or not?" 

Frustrating, impudent, _annoying_ - 

Unwilling to let the strange Force-sensitive out of his sight, Obi-Wan follows. The boy just doesn't make any sense. He doesn't have the traditional tattoos of the Matukai, he's too human to be either a Baran-Do Sage or a Voss Mystic, his use of the Force is far too excessive for the notoriously restrained Gray Paladin... 

"You're not a Kilian Ranger, are you?" He says after mentally exhausting his knowledge of obscure Force Traditions. It's a long-shot, but it would explain the difference in his style of fighting. Kilian Rangers are somewhere on the opposite spectrum to Jedi, being more exceptionally trained fighters that happen to use the Force than exceptionally trained Force-users that happen to be fighters. 

"Do I sound Kilian to you?" The boy flashes a smile over his shoulder.

"Not particularly, no."

"Though I wouldn't mind having one of their shield gauntlets. Have you seen those? Way better than a light-sword." 

"It's a light _saber_." 

"What's the difference?" 

Obi-Wan doesn't have time to answer, drawing his saber just in time to deflect a blaster shot. "Kriffing son of a Hutt!" The boy throws himself flat to dodge more shots and executes a perfect roll back behind Obi-Wan. "So those things aren't just there to look good."

"A lightsaber is intended to have a functional as well as symbolic value." Obi-Wan deflects three more bolts. "There are five pirates up ahead."

"And three behind." The boy's on his feet, back braced warm and solid and _right_ against Obi-Wan's, natural as if they've been doing it their whole lives. "What's your name?" 

"Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Bit of a mouthful isn't it, Obi?" 

Obi-Wan grits his teeth to keep from smiling. "What's your name, then?"

A sly flash of a grin in his peripheral. "Anakin."

"Where are you from then, Anakin?"  

"Tatooine by birth. Bit of everywhere by inclination. I go where the Force guides me." There's a surge in the Force and the pirates on Anakin's side lose their blasters. 

"Did you learn _that_ on Tatooine?"

"Oh, around. Want to focus on the pirates for now?" 

It takes half an hour to beat them back. Anakin is a showy fighter, prone to flashy moves and dramatic flourishes that would have been trained out of him if he were a Jedi but Obi-Wan can't bring himself to censure. Whatever Anakin is he's not a Jedi and it's impossible not to admire him for what he is. Beautiful and foreign, all joy and power and intensity, like watching a young predator at work.

Obi-Wan is a little bit sorry he has to take him back to Coruscant. Sadly, it's regulation for a good reason. Any trained Force-user who can't be linked to a known, permitted tradition has to be examined and verified by the Council. It's too dangerous otherwise, for both them and the galaxy. They can't have just anyone running around with Force abilities. 

He doesn't think the Order will look very kindly on Anakin, with all that raw power and un-Jedi-like irreverence. At the very least they'll want to keep him contained until after the War, to avoid him attracting the attention of the Sith. And maybe that will be for the best. 

Obi-Wan calls a stops when he finds a working comm. system. He leaves Anakin cuffing pirates to place a call to the Captain. 

" _Can you believe it?_ " She raves. _"On my ship! A real live Sky Warden on my ship!"_

"A Sky Warden?" Obi-Wan frowns. "They're a myth."

He's heard the stories - every pilot has - of the dashing Force-users who patrol the space ways, defending it's travellers against those who would prey on them. The anonymous lone warriors who walk among the populace posing as ordinary travellers and rise up when they're most needed.

Anakin certainly matches how a young man might think a Sky Warden should look and behave (all cockiness and flippant quips like a hero from a holo-drama). But they're just that: stories. No one actually believes in them. 

" _Not according to Anakin._ " The Captain sounds positively gleeful. _"Better hurry if you want to ask him. His ship's undocking."_

"What?" Obi-Wan turns to find that Anakin has somehow disappeared without Obi-Wan noticing.

He takes off at a run, following his instincts to the nearest docking bay. When he reaches the bay window, the airlock is already sealed off, the umbilical disconnecting from an elegant vessel shaped like an avian predator. He can see inside the cockpit, the young man in the pilot's seat giving a cocky salute.

"Anakin!" He calls uselessly, hand pressed to the glass. 

It's no use. The ship glides out of the bay. The engines fire and the pilot performs a showy loop-the-loop before disappearing into hyperspace and myth.


	2. MedCorp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those not in the know, the Service Corps are for Initiates not chosen to be trained as Padawans. The concept was introduced in the now non-canon Jedi Apprentice series. There are various specialisations, with the Medical Corps (or MedCorps) being highly trained personnel that (according to Wookiepedia) served as triage surgeons during the war. 
> 
> This was meant to be Anakin-as-Hawkeye, but he turned out more like a younger Leonard McCoy. My apologies.

Obi-Wan has almost grown used to losing clones. He’s lost so many to the Separatists.

This is somehow worse.

“Oh, Fives,” he sighs over the body laid out in the Temple morgue. “I’m sorry. So Force-damned sorry.”

Bant is standing by the door, very quiet in the background of his grief. She’d been the one to tell him they were shipping Five’s body to the Kiminoans for dissection and study. Psychosis was too dangerous an anomaly to ignore in a clone.

“You couldn’t have helped him,” she says gently.

“He was one of my soldiers. He came to me for help.”

“And then he trapped you and Rex, and tried to shoot Fox. It’s tragic, but it is what it is.” She squeezes his shoulder. “Hopefully the Kiminoans will be able to determine what caused it and prevent it happening to other clones. In a way, Fives’ death could help save a lot of lives.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “I know.” He watches Bant cover the body with a sheet. “I suppose I knew it was too late the moment he started ranting about brain-chips and mind-control.”

Bant pauses. “What did you say?”

“Fives was talking about chips in the clones’ brain. Claimed there was some grand conspiracy planting orders in their heads.” Obi-Wan looks more closely at his friend. “Surely you don’t believe it.”

“No, no. Of course not.” But Bant wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Bant, what is it?”

She glances at the open door. “Promise you’ll keep this to yourself.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

“Damn it, Obi… Fine, I’ll tell you. You’ll probably find out soon enough anyway. There _are_ chips inside the clones. But not like Fives made it sound. They’re just there to curb aggressive tendencies and other anti-social behaviour.”

Suddenly Fives’ rambling sounds a little less fantastical. “Force-dammit, Bant, you know what that sounds like. This should have been reported to the Council!”

“It was! A MedCorp discovered one during an emergency surgery. He reported to his superiors, who reported to us. We requested an explanation from the Kiminoans, they said it was completely standard. Acted surprised that we didn’t know.” Bant’s skin flushes in deep red disapproval. “Some Healers think it’s the Kiminoans’ insurance to stop their product being turned back on them. Not remotely legal or ethical, but the Council said they were satisfied with the outcome, so what could we do? We had to let it go.”

“When did this happen?”

“About a year into the war. The Council put a seal of silence on it, said this matter was better kept quiet, for the clones’ peace of mind.”

 _How noble,_ says the small sarcastic voice in Obi-Wan’s mind that sounds like Qui-Gon.

“I don’t believe the part about a conspiracy,” Bant adds hurriedly. “That’s all nonsense of course. But the chips… it’s disturbing how close to the truth it is. Perhaps Fives somehow stumbled across the existence of the chips and fabricated some sinister fantasy around their purpose?”

Obi-Wan wonders if she’s aware of her own uncertainty. She desperately wants her words to be true, but the Force shivers with her anxiety.

He considers Fives’ body. The Council had already looked into it and been satisfied. That should be enough for him. He should walk away.

“Can you examine the chip?” He asks finally.

“Fives already removed it. I don’t know what happened to it.”

 _Damn_. “Can you get hold of another?”

Bant hesitates, seeming to consider and reconsider a decision. “Not here,” she says slowly. “The Temple doesn’t normally handle clone bodies, and the Republic morgue would notice a Jedi requesting an examination.” She walks over to a terminal and punches a few keys. “The MedCorp, the one who discovered the chips in the first place, he wasn’t happy about the Council’s decision. And he’s running a surgical camp stationed on Ido.”

“Those camps are chaotic,” Obi-Wan says, seeing where she’s going with this.

“Exactly. Plenty of available bodies and a lot of busy people. If you forget to file the right paperwork, an autopsy could slip right through the cracks.”

“I’d need authorisation to go there.”  

“That’s the brilliant part. You already know the MedCorp. It’s Anakin Skywalker.”

* * *

Yoda expresses some curiosity at Obi-Wan’s request.  

“What is there on Ido?” He asks.

“It’s where Anakin Skywalker is stationed,” Obi-Wan replies and feels the Grand Master’s surprise ripple through the Force.

“Over ten years it has been, since you saw him last.”

“And perhaps it’s time.” Obi-Wan sighs and says with perfect honesty: “Anakin could have been a Jedi Knight, if I’d kept my promise.”  

“Know that, he did not.”

“No. But I do.” And that guilt has followed him for years, the knowledge that a talented youngling’s potential was wasted because Obi-Wan couldn’t look at him without resenting him, couldn’t put aside his own petty emotions to keep a promise to his dying Master.

“Closure, you seek,” Yoda says, and sighs. “Wise, perhaps. On your return, matters there are to discuss.”

About Obi-Wan joining the Council. They’ve been hinting at it for a while, ever since Ahsoka was Knighted. Obi-Wan’s managed to avoid it so far by playing dumb, but it seems their patience for that has ended. 

“Yes, Master,” he says resignedly.

* * *

Ido is on the Outer Rim, very close to the front lines. Obi-Wan arrives at the same time as a wave of newly injured, so the MedCorps have very little attention to give him.

“Skywalker?” Says a blue Twi’lek smearing bacta on a badly burned clone. “Triage tent three. I wouldn’t waste your time.”

“I beg your pardon,” Obi-Wan says, but the Twi’lek is no longer paying attention, speaking in firm soothing tones to her patient. She has another three waiting, so Obi-Wan walks away and lets her get on with it.

He wonders what Anakin is like. The last time Obi-Wan saw him, he’d been an eager-to-please nine year old. A life in the MedCorps, dedicated to helping others, had probably suited him very well, even if it wasn’t the life of a Knight. (Obi-Wan thinks that firmly, as if wishing hard enough will make it true.)

Inside the triage tent, dozens of unconscious clones are being operated on by a combination of bots, clone medics and MedCorps. Each of the MedCorps is sunk deep in the healing Force, the delicate threads wrapped about and within their patients invisible to anyone other than a trained Force-sensitive. Obi-Wan carefully navigates around them, wary of interrupting their focus.

“Excuse me,” he says to a young Zabrack MedCorp with a very non-regulation nose ring who has just finished operating and is peeling off bloody gloves. “Is Anakin Skywalker here?”

“ _E chu ta_ ,” the Zabrack says, scowling. “Two in one day. Look, your squad will just have to go through processing like everyone else.”

Obi-Wan blinks at the naked irritation rolling off the Zabrack. “I’m not here with a squad.”

“Then whatever it is, you’re better off following procedure. Pestering Skywalker won’t make it happen any faster, no matter how many people you know on the Council.”

Obi-Wan bit back a smile of amusement. He doesn’t think the young MedCorp would appreciate the irony. “Does that happen a lot?” He asks.

“You wouldn’t believe how many Jedi are close personal friends with Master Yoda.”

“I’ll keep it to myself then. If you could just let Skywalker know that Master Obi-Wan Kenobi is looking for him once he’s finished. I’d appreciate it.”

The Zabrack gives him a considering look. “You’re smarter than the other guy, I’ll give you that.”

“Other guy?”

“Some Jedi Master, didn’t catch his name. He’s been badgering Skywalker for an hour straight to sign his release forms.” The Zabrack leans in, lower his voice. “Listen, if you get that asshole out of here, that _might_ buy you some good will with Skywalker. Best I can do.”

Obi-Wan’s amusement vanishes. “Wait. There’s a Jedi here now? While Anakin is _performing surgery_?”

“Walked in like he owned the place. Back of the tent, third bed down.”

“Excuse me.”

Obi-Wan walked swiftly down the back of the tent. Sure enough, there’s an all too familiar Besalisk Jedi lecturing a tall human MedCorp who’s wrist-deep in a clone’s chest.

“–as you can see, this pointless red tape is standing in the way of a vital war effort–”

“Master Krell,” Obi-Wan interrupts icily.

The Jedi Master blinks in surprise, then pleasure. “Ah, Master Kenobi. I was just informing this MedCorp of how imperative it is I– ”

“A word if you please.” Obi-Wan says and points to the entrance. Master Krell seems taken aback, but follows him willingly enough.

Out in the open air, Obi-Wan turns to face Krell, not bothering to hide his displeasure. Technically he doesn’t have the authority to put the other Jedi in his place.  Not only are they equal in rank, but Obi-Wan is several decades junior. However it’s an open secret Obi-Wan stands poised to enter the Council and Obi-Wan has every intention of leaning as hard as he can on that leverage.

“Would you mind telling me,” he says coldly. “What was so important that you interrupted open heart surgery just now?”

“It’s ridiculous really.” Krell makes a dismissive gesture, apparently glad to have someone to vent to. “The MedCorps have detained my squad for some pointless medical exam and Skywalker’s being uncooperative about the whole thing. Typical Corp bitterness– wasn’t good enough to the grade for Padawan and they’re still holding it against us years later –”

“There were men dying in there,” Obi-Wan cuts him off. “Our men expect to die in battle or on the field _._ They don’t expect to die because you can’t wait a few hours to distract their surgeon with _paperwork_.”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Krell says stiffly. “They’re just clones.”

* * *

After he’s sent Krell away – with a lot of implied threats about the Council’s displeasure if he keeps bothering the Corps – Obi-Wan seeks out a cup of kaf in the mess-tent. He feels exhausted by the small battle. It’s just more of the same. Clones as acceptable casualties. Clones with chips in their heads. Clones as less important than a minor administrative issue.

Yoda would tell him he’s letting his feelings get away from him. That he’s lost perspective.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe Obi-Wan is wasting time when there are bigger priorities.

Two hours later, a mixed crowd of exhausted clone medics and MedCorp staff start filing into the tent, grabbing food trays and seeking out tables. He notes bemusedly that the nose ring he’d seen earlier on the Zabrack is the _least_ outlandish decoration in their ranks. There seems to be a fashion trend among the young MedCorps to emulate the clones with shaved or dyed hair in vibrant colours. Others have tattoos or piercings that would never have been allowed in the Temple. It’s all rather interesting, though Obi-Wan is glad that Ahsoka isn’t here to see the tattoos on that Togruta man. It would just give her ideas.

A food tray is suddenly dumped on his table and a tall Human drops into the seat opposite. “Okay, Obi-Wan. You have two minutes.”

Obi-Wan stares. “Anakin?”

He hadn’t really got a chance to look at Anakin in the triage-tent, so it’s a shock to be unable to find any trace of that bright little boy he remembers. Anakin’s taller than Obi-Wan now, his build lean and wiry, if lacking the muscle of a Knight. His blonde hair is shaved on both sides and teased into a crest on the middle, a silvery piece of dragon-shaped jewellery hooked about one ear.

 “I thought the Corps had a stricter dress-code,” Obi-Wan says without thinking.  

The only response he gets is a dismissive snort. “I run this camp. If I say this is the dress code, this is the dress code.”

“…fair enough.”

 “Look, can we get on with this? I’ll hear you out because you got rid of that _sleemo_ Krell, but I said two minutes and I mean it. I’ve just worked a ten hour shift and all I want is a hot meal and my bunk.” Anakin stuffs a forkful of noodles in his mouth, then adds begrudgingly: “It _is_ good to see you, Obi-Wan. You're rocking that beard.”

Kenobi can't help but smile. Anakin reminds him of a grumpier, more mouthy version of Ahsoka. He wonders if he's any better mannered once he's got some sleep under his belt. 

The smile fades quickly. Force, what is he _doing_ here? Anakin is only twenty-three. More importantly, he's just a MedCorp. A talented MedCorp, certainly, to be running an entire surgical camp at his age, but he's not a Knight or even a Padawan. Kenobi’s duty is to protect him, not dragging him into this paranoid delusion of a conspiracy. 

“I’m not even sure what I’m doing here," he says out loud. 

“That means you know, you’re just scared to do it,” Anakin replies, attention on eating as fast as he can without choking. “You came all this way to see me. So either shit or get off the pot.”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to correct the obscenity. If he’d wanted the right to do that, he should have taken Anakin as his Padawan when he had the chance.

“It’s about the brain-chips you discovered three years ago.” 

Anakin’s fork pauses, hovering over his bowl.  He sets it down slowly, new wariness in the set of his shoulders. “Did the Council send you?”

“No. They don’t even know that I’m aware of the chips. A Healer friend told me.”

“The name of this friend?”

“I’d prefer not to get her into trouble.”

It’s difficult to read Anakin’s expression or Force-signature; he’s keeping his emotions as tightly locked down as a Master Jedi. A little desperately Obi-Wan says: “One of my men tried to tell me about those chips and he died for it. I need to know more.”

Anakin’s forehead creases ever so slightly in confusion. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to do a proper examination, like the Council should have before they closed the Investigation.”

“And if you’re right? If there is something wrong? What will you do?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Obi-Wan thinks about it. “Take it before the Council I suppose.”

“Like that'll help. They didn't do anything last time." 

“Then I’ll think of something. I have to. If Fives was right and we don’t try to fix it… we won’t be Jedi anymore. I’m not even sure we’ll be _people_ anymore.”

And there it is, that truth that has been gnawing at him throughout the war. That niggling uncertainty that had him side-stepping a Council seat every time it came up, that had coalesced into secret defiance over the chips. He doesn’t want to be a Council member if this is what it means.

Anakin wipes his mouth, tosses the napkin on the table and stands up. “Come with me.”

* * *

Anakin takes him to a tent to the side of the camp. Two clones look up in startled surprise as they enter, hands on their blasters.

“Sir?” One says, and to Obi-Wan’s surprise, he realises he’s talking to Anakin, not Obi-Wan.

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. “He’s an old friend of mine from Naboo. He’s trustworthy.”

That seems to be enough for the clones. They are both wearing medic uniforms, Obi-Wan notes, and this whole tent appears to be set up as another surgery. There’s a med-droid and an exam table and everything smells faintly of bacta.

Anakin leads Obi-Wan to a terminal where he logs into a screen. “This is what I found when I cracked open those chips. It took me about a dozen tries to get it; they’re designed to degrade outside the body.”

“You’ve already examined them?” Obi-Wan says. 

Anakin rolls his eyes as if it was a stupid question. “Of course I did. The whole thing stank of poodoo. The Jedi ordered an army, and when I dug a slave chip out of a trooper, they couldn’t bury it fast enough. Like hell I was letting it go.”

Well that was convenient. Obi-Wan sits down and peers at the screen. It’s a list of orders. Dozens. Perhaps hundreds. Listing every possible action from arresting the Senate to orbital bombardment of Coruscant.

This isn’t the Kiminoans covering themselves, he realises with a sinking feeling. This is something bigger. Much bigger. 

“The Council _can’t_ have ordered this,” he says.

Anakin shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. You’ve got to admit, it looks pretty damning.”

“We have to do something,” Obi-Wan says helplessly. “Go to the Senate. The Chancellor…” He trails off. He can already see the outcome, the Chancellor’s regretful deflection of the issue. Palpatine is too much of a pragmatist to risk the army during wartime. And the Senate can barely agree on the next funding bill, let alone a problem of this scale and complexity.

“Yeah, I can see from your face you know how that would go.” Anakin says. “Don’t worry, though. I’ve got it under control.”

“You’ve got it under control?” 

“Yep.” Anakin searches around under the desk and finds a jar of candy that he offers to Obi-Wan. “Here. The sugar will help with the shock.”

Obi-Wan waves it away. “Anakin, no offence, but you’re hardly in a position to do anything. You’re not even a Knight.”

“Oh no, woe is me. I can’t use a lightsabre to solve my problems.” Anakin drops the sarcasm for a more serious tone. “Obi-Wan, do you know how many injured troopers pass through surgical camps? And how many of those camps are run by MedCorps?”

Obi-Wan hesitates. “I’d imagine the numbers are in the millions. And I really don’t know about the MedCorps.”

“Lets just say a lot. Sometimes the Healers help, but the army needs every Knight in the field, so generally we're on our own. Most of the injured have to be put under for one reason or another, and removing the chips is a fairly straightforward procedure, so…” Anakin shrugs. “We juggle the paperwork right, no one ever notices a thing."

Obi-Wan realises his mouth is gaping unattractively. He closes it and smooths his beard. “How long…?” he starts and stops.

Luckily Anakin seems to understand the question. “Ever since I discovered the obscene things. I started doing it myself, and taught others how to do it, and it kind of just spread from there. We can’t get to the entire army, obviously, but every clone we operate on is one less slave walking around.”

And Anakin would understand the value of that. Had it been his background that made him ignore the Council’s mandate?

Except no, he’d managed to get most – if not all – the MedCorps participating in his effort. That suggests they as a rule perceive clones very differently to the rest of the Order. Most Jedi Knights don’t think of their troops as people at all. Obi-Wan knows that his own attitude toward clones is the exception rather than the rule. To Jedi like Krell, slave chips would be a sensible precaution. 

Obi-Wan had always thought that indifference an effect of the war; an inevitable side-effect that could and would eventually be reversed. But if the Corps don’t see it that way, perhaps it’s not the war at all. Perhaps it’s something more insidious, some intrinsic flaw within the Knights themselves.

“Okay, seriously, take a candy,” Anakin says, shaking the jar at him. “You’re as white as a sheet and if you pass out in here, I’m going to make you stay overnight.”

He’s a good healer, Obi-Wan thinks. An amazing healer, according to Bant. And maybe _that’s_ the difference. The Knights looked at clones and saw cannon fodder. The MedCorps saw patients in need of healing. If so, Obi-Wan had inadvertently done Anakin a favour all those years ago, when he broke his promise to Qui-Gon.  

Obi-Wan accepts a candy, squares his shoulders, and asks: “What can I do to help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a really good exploration of how Corps and Knights operate (and the problems therein), read the alt universe fic "On The Other Side" by Esama.


End file.
